Wednesday, January 13, 2010
More soon
And she decided to lie down and see just what he was going to do to her. There was nothing else she wanted more than to let him tap-dance his odd fingers all over her bare chest, so she stopped fighting, and allowed it to happen. She is to be blamed, of course. She is flawed, of course. She takes full responsibility and she’ll do it again.
Monday, December 28, 2009
I keep meaning to sit down and release a particular story into the universe but every time I sit down to write it, something else clamors its way in the front of my brain. Perhaps it'll have its turn here, in this medium, in this now not so secret place.
So far it is just this: My old bed, the very old one that I had to climb into, tall as I was. The headboard that almost went to the ceiling. Dark mahogany, inlay, broken. The white bedspread with the tiny purple, yellow, and pink flowers - little balls from too many washings under its scratchy surface. The blanket that no matter how much I tugged always made its way to around my ankles. My hand, always seeking for that place, never satisfied and always greedy. A whole summer spent almost entirely inside. Sister with a job at the video store, a working mother and father. Me, in my tall old bed, a fledgling knowledge of self, of my own beauty, of my own power. The summer in between sixth and seventh grade: push, pull, light, hard. Mine.
The warm bed under the arctic chill of powerful central air conditioning. Warm in my jeans, cool under the sheets after I slipped them off at least once a day. Sometimes several times a day, sometimes quick and on the sly. Given the chance I'd always be in this state, and get absolutely nothing done.
So far it is just this: My old bed, the very old one that I had to climb into, tall as I was. The headboard that almost went to the ceiling. Dark mahogany, inlay, broken. The white bedspread with the tiny purple, yellow, and pink flowers - little balls from too many washings under its scratchy surface. The blanket that no matter how much I tugged always made its way to around my ankles. My hand, always seeking for that place, never satisfied and always greedy. A whole summer spent almost entirely inside. Sister with a job at the video store, a working mother and father. Me, in my tall old bed, a fledgling knowledge of self, of my own beauty, of my own power. The summer in between sixth and seventh grade: push, pull, light, hard. Mine.
The warm bed under the arctic chill of powerful central air conditioning. Warm in my jeans, cool under the sheets after I slipped them off at least once a day. Sometimes several times a day, sometimes quick and on the sly. Given the chance I'd always be in this state, and get absolutely nothing done.
Friday, October 30, 2009
On watching
Sadly, I have never met another woman who enjoys what I am about to speak of as much as I do. These topics usually don't come up in polite conversation, however (which is all I seem to have with most women) so I'm not sure if women actually DO enjoy it and I'm just not aware of it or if they usually DON'T enjoy it and I am (as I've suspected) a freak. Admittedly I just did a quick google search on the topic, and what comes up are wiki questions from a bunch of men asking the same question. I am going to clear the air for my female counterparts and raise my lacquered hand in the air and state, "I enjoy watching men jack off."
I mean, I really, really enjoy it. Back when I had more time on my hands (heh) than I do now, and was sadly unsure of how to use the time constructively, I used to search for videos of men masturbating. Sadly, most of it was quite trashy, and there was usually another man off camera "coaching" the fellows (as if men needed coaching on how to pleasure themselves) and that was a complete turn off. I love this bit of a man's personal reperatoire, and could watch every day if I had the choice. Lots of men. One after another.
The first time I watched a man jack himself off (live and in person), it was as if I was hit by an electric shock right smack dab in the middle of my clit. Setting up the situation was tough (it was, of course, my idea) as I wasn't too heavily involved with the guy yet, so I didn't want to sound...strange, or greedy, or needy. He was highly adventurous, generous, and we spoke of random sex acts freely - like a pair of talk show hosts. Once I got the courage I purred one night into his ear, "Tonight there is nothing else I want to see more than you fucking yourself."
It was a dark evening, with hardly any moonlight, so I had trouble reading his face after I asked. I'm sure I was flushed, my heart beating like a jackrabbit's and making my left tit jiggle with its rhythm. Thankfully, my nerves were spared when he didn't say anything at all and swiftly pulled his cock out of his jeans (he was already sporting a full-blown hard on) and started moving his fist quickly up, down, around...
I was mesmerized. I grew up around women. I had never witnessed something so raw and gorgeous as what was happening in front of me. I had given my share of blowjobs by this point but never had I seen a man do exactly what he wanted to do to himself (ah, as if I weren't there at all). It was quite a lesson in technique, in what feels how where to a man. His cock simply throbbed and soon a tiny bead of pre-come appeared, so I deftly leaned over and licked it off. I looked up at his face again, and that's when I fell madly in love with the act. Now don't get me wrong, I was a seasoned pro in my own self-pleasure, but seeing a man take advantage of himself was something else all together. The pure earnestness of it. He bit his lip, his brow was furrowed. And godalmighty the sound of it. The subtle (and soon NOT so subtle) slap, slap, slap. I fucking loved cock so much and ohhhhhh. I could tell he was close to bringing himself to where we all crave to be (all the time), so I asked if I could swallow when he came. His eyes, all tiny pupils in cornflower blue snapped open and for a minute I was afraid I had broken the spell.
I yelped a bit when his hand practically flew off of his cock and around the back of my neck, pushing my lips down, down, down. I felt his release move quickly up and out, and I drank every last drop of him. I don't remember the rest. Honestly. I think I might have fainted. After that initial "watching" event I was a junkie, and pouted when I met men who felt uncomfortable with me being a panting voyeur.
I mean, I really, really enjoy it. Back when I had more time on my hands (heh) than I do now, and was sadly unsure of how to use the time constructively, I used to search for videos of men masturbating. Sadly, most of it was quite trashy, and there was usually another man off camera "coaching" the fellows (as if men needed coaching on how to pleasure themselves) and that was a complete turn off. I love this bit of a man's personal reperatoire, and could watch every day if I had the choice. Lots of men. One after another.
The first time I watched a man jack himself off (live and in person), it was as if I was hit by an electric shock right smack dab in the middle of my clit. Setting up the situation was tough (it was, of course, my idea) as I wasn't too heavily involved with the guy yet, so I didn't want to sound...strange, or greedy, or needy. He was highly adventurous, generous, and we spoke of random sex acts freely - like a pair of talk show hosts. Once I got the courage I purred one night into his ear, "Tonight there is nothing else I want to see more than you fucking yourself."
It was a dark evening, with hardly any moonlight, so I had trouble reading his face after I asked. I'm sure I was flushed, my heart beating like a jackrabbit's and making my left tit jiggle with its rhythm. Thankfully, my nerves were spared when he didn't say anything at all and swiftly pulled his cock out of his jeans (he was already sporting a full-blown hard on) and started moving his fist quickly up, down, around...
I was mesmerized. I grew up around women. I had never witnessed something so raw and gorgeous as what was happening in front of me. I had given my share of blowjobs by this point but never had I seen a man do exactly what he wanted to do to himself (ah, as if I weren't there at all). It was quite a lesson in technique, in what feels how where to a man. His cock simply throbbed and soon a tiny bead of pre-come appeared, so I deftly leaned over and licked it off. I looked up at his face again, and that's when I fell madly in love with the act. Now don't get me wrong, I was a seasoned pro in my own self-pleasure, but seeing a man take advantage of himself was something else all together. The pure earnestness of it. He bit his lip, his brow was furrowed. And godalmighty the sound of it. The subtle (and soon NOT so subtle) slap, slap, slap. I fucking loved cock so much and ohhhhhh. I could tell he was close to bringing himself to where we all crave to be (all the time), so I asked if I could swallow when he came. His eyes, all tiny pupils in cornflower blue snapped open and for a minute I was afraid I had broken the spell.
I yelped a bit when his hand practically flew off of his cock and around the back of my neck, pushing my lips down, down, down. I felt his release move quickly up and out, and I drank every last drop of him. I don't remember the rest. Honestly. I think I might have fainted. After that initial "watching" event I was a junkie, and pouted when I met men who felt uncomfortable with me being a panting voyeur.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
and on the 18th day she rested...
I have bartered with myself for three day weekends, and have graciously (after much huffing and brow furrowing) consented to do so. The waxing and waning of my particular appetite has provided SO MUCH fascination for me the past couple of days. Over the weekend, it has been waning, and I'm pretty sure it's due to the fact that I'm no longer ovulating. Perhaps my clandestine writings will prove my gossamer hypothesis? Let's plow forward and find out, shall we?
When I'm in my peak weeks of the month (the two weeks after my period has ended) I literally could be bent over every thirty seconds or so and still not be satiated. I crave the nastiest, ball-slappingest fuckings imaginable and go off in a seedy dreamland while doing dishes, laundry, working, facebooking, cleaning, cooking, talking to coworkers, talking to my husband, running over to my husband, climbing on top of my husband...
Then after the lecherous, lewd, licentious, and lustful activity, I calm down a bit and take a brief sabbatical into the pensive. Sadly, this is usually the time that my breasts hormonally swell to the size of canteloupes and cause my husband to go into a state of kink. I of course am spurred on by his attention, but my third gear is slower on the uptake. I usually require five minutes instead of two.
I am considering delving into deep research mode during my period of respite, my calm foray into all things slow and cerebral. Thinking: should I check out the Kinsey reports from the library? The works of Masters and Johnson? Dr. Ruth? Betty Dobson? What are the scientific specifics to the physiology and mental state of the ovulating woman? Looking at some of my journal entries from full swing egg shaking/moving, some were so randy I blushed too hard to post them here. My brain/body was in total fuck and be fucked mode almost constantly. A vague example: "I dream of crawling on her, using her as a fleshy slip and slide..." This is hot hot stuff, and was written right before I literally jumped my husband telling him I, "Have a tight hole that needs filled." Zoweee.
I'll scare the folks at the library, Henry Miller one day, Kinsey the next...what experiments will they think I'm performing? A mad scientist who specializes in all things sex? Who cares! I'll raise eyebrows and raise my skirt, ladee ladee lah...
When I'm in my peak weeks of the month (the two weeks after my period has ended) I literally could be bent over every thirty seconds or so and still not be satiated. I crave the nastiest, ball-slappingest fuckings imaginable and go off in a seedy dreamland while doing dishes, laundry, working, facebooking, cleaning, cooking, talking to coworkers, talking to my husband, running over to my husband, climbing on top of my husband...
Then after the lecherous, lewd, licentious, and lustful activity, I calm down a bit and take a brief sabbatical into the pensive. Sadly, this is usually the time that my breasts hormonally swell to the size of canteloupes and cause my husband to go into a state of kink. I of course am spurred on by his attention, but my third gear is slower on the uptake. I usually require five minutes instead of two.
I am considering delving into deep research mode during my period of respite, my calm foray into all things slow and cerebral. Thinking: should I check out the Kinsey reports from the library? The works of Masters and Johnson? Dr. Ruth? Betty Dobson? What are the scientific specifics to the physiology and mental state of the ovulating woman? Looking at some of my journal entries from full swing egg shaking/moving, some were so randy I blushed too hard to post them here. My brain/body was in total fuck and be fucked mode almost constantly. A vague example: "I dream of crawling on her, using her as a fleshy slip and slide..." This is hot hot stuff, and was written right before I literally jumped my husband telling him I, "Have a tight hole that needs filled." Zoweee.
I'll scare the folks at the library, Henry Miller one day, Kinsey the next...what experiments will they think I'm performing? A mad scientist who specializes in all things sex? Who cares! I'll raise eyebrows and raise my skirt, ladee ladee lah...
Friday, July 31, 2009
benefits
He wasn't hesitant to tip my chin up, then run this thumb across my lower lip (lips swell and fill out during the onset of arousal, did you know that?). I felt the curious sensation of my tiny little button stand at attention. It was SO excited to be invited to the party, it couldn’t sit still…
This flutter of activity, a tense mix of warm honey, the sudden need for hard, quick heat; devoid of anything tender, slow, or sweet. His tongue ran over the roof of m y mouth, something I did myself while reading, writing, watching TV. My breath was coming in short staccato breaths, until I gave up all pretense and moaned in his mouth. Pillow lips still wrapped around tongue, I moaned again (the image of my tongue wrapped around something lower on his body elicited that particular sigh).
I pressed my hips against his, hesitant to the urge to wrap my leg around his waist, the urge to reach my hand into my skirt. I was so ready to be deliberately and un-gently fucked. So hard that my teeth would chatter, but I wanted to show a tiny bit of restraint. After a pulse (a thrum, a cadence, a flutter of eyelash) his hands were up my purple skirt pushing on damp cotton, finding a tight little orchid (his hand now soaked).
Lips are fuller now, just remembering the kiss with benefits. Never saw him then saw him abruptly at our shared college, thick with brick. He had a lovely girlfriend, so lovely the gears cranked and turned in my imagination and I loped over to Fantasyland during introductions. Just slightly hurt. More fodder. More memories to ransack later.
This flutter of activity, a tense mix of warm honey, the sudden need for hard, quick heat; devoid of anything tender, slow, or sweet. His tongue ran over the roof of m y mouth, something I did myself while reading, writing, watching TV. My breath was coming in short staccato breaths, until I gave up all pretense and moaned in his mouth. Pillow lips still wrapped around tongue, I moaned again (the image of my tongue wrapped around something lower on his body elicited that particular sigh).
I pressed my hips against his, hesitant to the urge to wrap my leg around his waist, the urge to reach my hand into my skirt. I was so ready to be deliberately and un-gently fucked. So hard that my teeth would chatter, but I wanted to show a tiny bit of restraint. After a pulse (a thrum, a cadence, a flutter of eyelash) his hands were up my purple skirt pushing on damp cotton, finding a tight little orchid (his hand now soaked).
Lips are fuller now, just remembering the kiss with benefits. Never saw him then saw him abruptly at our shared college, thick with brick. He had a lovely girlfriend, so lovely the gears cranked and turned in my imagination and I loped over to Fantasyland during introductions. Just slightly hurt. More fodder. More memories to ransack later.
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